Slave's Tiara
by Blue Dragon
Summary: SEQUEL TO WELCOME HOME. CH7 POSTED. The masterslavers of the galaxy, the Elyrrics, have come to town. While one Animorph is horrified, the other seems quite... pleased.
1. a thought

**1 - a thought**

It came naturally to her now. She would half-wake, hearing no matter how deeply she slept when he was troubled by his nightmares. She would pull closer to him, embrace him, try to smooth the fearful lines over his forehead with her touch and warmth.

Marco's reaction varied. At times, he would frown in his sleep, mutter, still agonised, and she would simply hold him until it passed. Other times, he awoke. Once woken, he would always turn to her, gather her into his arms, clinging to her as if she was the only light in a universe of darkness. He might weep. Or he might grow silent, force himself quiet and calm, and they would both fall asleep and wake together in the morning, still entwined. Or, he would kiss her, a fierce and possessive and hungry kiss, so unlike the usual tender and considerate lover she knew. Then, too, they would wake entwined.

She never had nightmares any more. Not since three years earlier, when she had first fallen asleep in Marco's arms, content and perfectly safe.

Nothing in the world could harm her – Marco would never let it. He had kept his promise: throughout her second pregnancy, she had never needed to morph. She had borne a healthy baby boy – a child which had celebrated his second birthday the very day before. A happy, carefree child, whose parents loved him more than life itself, and who was blissfully unaware of his father's ever returning nightmares.

Marco refused to speak of them in any more than the vaguest terms. But she was certain.

Each night, they were getting worse.

Causing the nightmares was a shadow from Marco's years in outer space after the war. The years when Marco found himself the only survivor of Jake's mission into Kelbrid space. He had been captured by a breed of aliens called the Elŷrrics. They had given him a gift: a silver tiara which had broken his mind and turned him into an eager slave, through the use of never-ending anguish and slivers of joy only when he served his masters well.

He had not worn that tiara for years, but still it beckoned for him, called to him, coaxing and tormenting. It did not intend to relinquish its hold, and it was another thing he refused to speak of – a thing he would not give up, for it had told him not to.

She had learned to recognise the signs of when it reached for him. He would touch its pocket at odd times – a tick he could not be rid of – and now and again fury flared across his face as he fought it in the only way he knew how. But worst was when he was listening to its patient, sweet song. A distance appeared in his eyes, the life left his smiles as his mind travelled somewhere else, and the warmth lacked in his touch.

Despite the years, the tiara still owned Marco. She knew he loved her – she had his heart, his soul… but the Elŷrrian slave's tiara had his mind. And it had all the time in the world.

She could not help but feel that her own time was running out. With each passing day, Marco was slipping away. The nightmares were only the start of it. Even awake, Marco had begun to look haunted. Sometimes the looks he turned on her belonged to someone else – evaluating, considering scowls like nothing that fit on his face. He would retreat more and more to a corner within himself, somewhere beyond her reach. If prompted he would emerge from his shell, careful as if afraid to break some precarious balance. He would shrug her questions aside: it was nothing. And the obvious joy he took in life otherwise always dispelled her worries. But the nightmares, always intensifying, she could not ignore.

He had never woken twice during one night before. The tiara had always had the common sense and patience to leave him alone after the first time, allow him to sleep, not push him too far at once.

Yet here he was. He had rolled away from her in his sleep, and as she stirred, feeling his distress as she always did, she was still too groggy with sleep to consider the strangeness more closely. She would consider it in the morning.

And it came so naturally. She shifted herself closer to him, wrapping an arm around him and hooking a leg around his. He woke. At first he was about to shove her away, but then relaxed. He turned to her. He was blinking tears from his eyes as he placed a tender kiss on her forehead, and hugged her close. His arms were strong and safe about her, and as ever his body was a shield between her and harm. Or so she could normally envision. But now, as he did after those nightmares, he smelled of fear.

"No matter what I ever say, or what I do," he said, "I do love you. I always will."

"Yes, Marco. I know you do. I love you too."

"Don't let me forget it," he breathed, his voice quavering. It was the most desperate plea she had ever heard from him.

"I won't," she promised.

Some tension evaporated from his shoulders. He exhaled as if he had been holding a deep breath. She sighed and snuggled into his embrace. Eventually the two of them returned to sleep.

And then she woke alone.

She left the bed and went to find him. The house was eerily quiet, and cold: she shivered, barefoot and dressed only in a knee-long night gown. Her son slept peacefully in his bed. Marco must have checked in on the boy – the door was closed, and she herself always left it slightly ajar. She continued. The study was empty. So was the kitchen downstairs, and the living room beside it. She found her lover in the bathroom. He was sitting on his knees, his back to her. His arms and head were draped over the bathtub's side, hidden from view.

"Marco?"

At the lack of response, she approached.

She found a knife in the bathtub's bottom, lying in the middle of a pool of blood. Marco's wrists were both deeply cut.

Wailing in sudden despair, she tore the limp body from the edge of the bathtub, and fell to the floor beside it. She ran her shaking hands over his still, pale face, down the sides of his neck. Frantically she began searching for some sign of life – any sign of life.

"You can't do this to me," she whispered, again and again, as if whispering would help. Words flew over her tongue, thoughtless, disconnected, one already grieving, another denying, and many still hoping. "You can't, you wouldn't. You –"

There – weak, faint, a sliver of movement at Marco's jugular vein: a pulse.

Her tears streamed in relief. She dared hardly breathe.

"Morph, Marco," she urged, shaking him. "Morph!"

There was no response. Her relief evaporated in the face of an awful realisation: Marco was unconscious. And already unconscious men did not morph.

"_No_," she rasped, collapsing over him, burying her face against his neck. "No no no… I'm not giving you up. Not… morph. Just… _morph_."

Her mind, was haunted by all-too-believable images: losing Marco was losing her last fellow Animorph. Once, she had lost them all. She had let them go. She had been left alone, incomplete. Marco's unexpected return to Earth had saved her in more ways than the obvious.

She could not let him go.

Her parents, she had lost. Her Ronnie – sweet, kind Ronnie, whom she had loved, would have married – also lost.

And now Marco lay lifeless beneath her, the last of his blood slowly leaving him, and he was too far gone to be reached, too far gone to save himself.

But Cassie would not let him go.

She dug her fingers into his shoulders. She pressed against him and searched for the core within her that was the morpher. She began the changes. To wolf, a morph she knew better than any – a morph Marco had identical.

She let the morph slip like sand between her fingers: she felt it seep into Marco. He was a part of her, no more, no less. A cornerstone of her existence, her closest family, her dearest friend, the father of her child. She knew him like she knew herself – as she could urge and control the changes in her own body, she could steer Marco's. She knew every line and curve and crease of him. Every gesture was familiar, every glance a reflection of her own soul. Where one of them ended, the other seamlessly began. A part of her… and more than that.

And as Cassie morphed, she dragged Marco through the same changes. She coaxed, cajoled, forced. She did not focus, or consider it: she simply made it happen. Marco had already surrendered, surrendered everything – her manipulations met no resistance. And when she felt life and own will return, she reversed the morph and let them both melt back to human.

Marco opened his eyes and lay staring at the roof. He made no move, no noise, but his chest heaved with a slow, reassuring breath.

Cassie, exhausted as morphing had never exhausted her before, remained draped over him, her eyes lightly closed. She kept her fierce hold on him, daring him to leave her again.

An hour later perhaps, or perhaps only minutes, Cassie spoke: "What for?"

Marco raised an arm, studying his uncut wrist. "How?" he wondered.

"How? Because I'm not letting you go so easily. Why? What for?"

Marco, at first, had no answer for her.

"_Marco_," she whispered. Her voice was breaking again. She knew. "The tiara. It told you to…"

"Oh, no. It wouldn't waste a slave like that," Marco replied bitterly.

"Then…" And again Cassie understood.

Marco had not been acting under the tiara's influence. He had simply been trying to escape it. He touched her cheek – she caught his wrist and leaned her face into it.

"It wanted me to kill you," he croaked, his words thick with pain and grief and fear. "And I would have done it, too. And… and… _worse_."

Cassie pushed herself up on her elbows, looking down at Marco's face. "If you wanted to hurt me, Marco," she said softly, sincerely, "there's no better way than you dying."

"You don't know the Elŷrrics. You don't know the tiara. You don't –"

"But I'm sick of seeing how it pains you. So it's time to do something about it."

Marco had been lying sprawled on his back on the floor, emptied of vitality and joy and hope in a way a balloon could be emptied of air. At her firm words, life and strength exploded back into his being. But not the kind of life one might hope for: this was the life of primal fear, the strength of desperation. Pure and simple, they lit up Marco's dark eyes as he flew up, seizing Cassie by the shoulders and staring into her eyes.

"You're not taking it from me," he growled menacingly, shaking her, digging his fingers into her shoulders hard enough to bruise her. "No. I won't let you."

"Of course not," Cassie assured him, making no attempt to escape his grip, and meeting his focused ire with calm.

Marco released her with a curse, shifting away as if she had burned him. He collapsed into himself again, hiding his face in his hands. "Let me be," he asked. "Leave me, before I –"

Cassie sat herself on her knees next to him. "Leave you?" she repeated. "Now, when you need me? No. You know me better than that."

She rose slowly, reaching down both hands. "Come on," she said. When he made no move, she grabbed hold of his wrists and pulled until he followed her up.

* * *

Author's Note:

_-builds barricade-_

_-dons helmet-_

_-readies defensive scowl-_

_-takes deep breath-_

_-peeks out-_

Well? What thoughts have ye, ye reading scoundrels?

Honestly. I know Marco suiciding is out of character, and I should have built up to it much, much more, but this would be longer than KW Chrons if I did. I just wanted to quickly portray exactly how much the tiara terrifies him. How, exactly, it terrifies him, is up to each and every one's imagination. Imagine what would terrify you. What would leave you a weeping wreck in a corner, unable to move and think and feel anything but horror and regret and your own powerlessness? That's what the tiara uses. That's what Marco's tasting, day in, day out, dream in, dream out… Read Welcome Home and it's explained in more detail, that's from Marco's point of view.

I won't be saying anything else until after the story is done. So enjoy. And if you're going to flame me, please do it constructively, or you might as well not, for I'm smart enough to see the obvious flaws in this myself, thank you very much. And yes, I'm still going to write it, and post it, no matter what you say.


	2. on

**2 - on**

Hand in hand they went to the kitchen. Marco was glum and withdrawn, and Cassie tired emotionally as well as physically, from the morphing, and finding little to say worth the effort. She boiled some water and made tea, gave him a cup, and then went to the other end of the kitchen to make a few phone calls.

First she dialled the number to Dr Robert Glas, the psychologist who had tried to take care of her when she had been captured by her delusions, after Ronnie's death, after she had morphed away her first unborn child. She remembered how she had hated him, then. But he had been a support and help thereafter. She explained what had happened, and he promised to come as soon as he could – by that very evening. She doubted him, but thanked him and hung up. Knowing that Marco's parents were away in the Caribbeans, she called Loren, asking her to come by and take Cody off their hands for a few days. She did not specify why: she simply said that something which could not wait had come up. Yes, she knew it was four in the morning. And of course it concerned aliens. Loren, who did not live far away, mumbled a sleepy promise to get dressed and come right over.

Cassie fetched herself a glass of milk, and walked back to the table where Marco sat. "I called Dr Glas," she told him softly as she sank down onto a seat, opposite from him. "And Loren. She's coming to pick up Cody, and baby-sit him while we sort this mess out."

Marco sat with his hands cupped firmly around his teacup. The tea was steaming – the cup must have been scalding hot. He appeared not to notice. "Good," he gritted. "Then he'll be out of my easy reach, at least."

She watched him – this man she had grown to love. The sparkle which had been in his eyes in his younger days was gone now. The war had never quenched Marco: the Elŷrrics had. He had told her fragments of that tale, spare pieces to a puzzle of horror and pain. She had never asked for more. She could read the unuttered tales in how he had changed. His sharp wit had grown cautious and bitter, his open manner more reserved. His priorities had changed: he wanted nothing of fame. He wanted peace, and he wanted _her_.

Loving something had never come easily to Marco, not before, and even less now. But when he loved, he loved intensely.

He could sit and watch her. She would feel his usually cautious gaze grow warm as his eyes followed her. She could feel how he treasured her.

Now, he barely looked at her, and did so in short, fearful glances. Now, she could feel nothing but his anguish. The only time he had removed his hands from that scalding cup, it had been his right hand, reaching for his pocket, and the tiara there.

"What are you so afraid of?"

For anyone else, he would have denied everything. For her, he spoke. "I'm losing control. I can feel it. Something's changed. And the tiara…" His voice faded away, the hoarse rasp weakening. He swallowed, once – his hand travelled to touch that pocket again, before trembling returning to the cup. He licked his lips. He did not look at her. "Something's changing the rules. The tiara is more… insistent. I don't know much longer I can fight it. I don't know… how much longer I can _want_ to fight it. I keep forgetting why I _should_. It's… taking over."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you."

"Too late for that," whispered Cassie. "This morning…"

"That wasn't planned," Marco said, avoiding her searching gaze. She cupped his cheek in her palm. His eyes were pleading… hers began filling with tears.

And then the first sob shook her.

He was mortified. "No, no, don't, Cass… please don't weep."

But Cassie had already let go. Since finding Marco draped over the side of that bathtub, she had been strong. Something had kept her eyes dry from tears, and her mind clear. Something – some reserve of emergency strength – had kept her chin up. And now she released it. The fear nagged at her. The tears came. The sobs. The wild relief.

The despair.

And in another moment, Marco was there. He gathered her into his arms, slipping down onto her chair and in the same movement scooping her easily onto his lap, as if she had been no larger than a child. Again his embrace became that safe haven, that comfort, and nothing would be allowed to harm her. She was rocked gently back and forth, the arms around her tightening as if to extinguish her sobs.

"No, don't cry. Please don't. Cass. Please. I'm sorry."

Cassie hugged him in return, burying her face against his shoulder. Slowly, she calmed her ragged breathing, stilled her sobs, and her tears dried out.

"You promised you'd never leave me," she reminded him.

"I know."

"You _scared_ me."

"I'm sorry. I… panicked."

"Your dreams? You should have woken me. Talked to me."

"Not just my dreams." He spoke in a whisper against her ear. "I woke and reached for the tiara. I had it in my hand, going down to the kitchen. I stroked it, treasured it. If it had asked me then to wear it… I would have. And I would have been lost. But it didn't. It just made me head for the kitchen. I fetched a knife. And. And… I was opening…" His entire body tensed, pausing a moment before he went on. "I was opening the door to Cody's room when it suddenly let go. Just let go, and let me realise what I was doing. I panicked. I was so close to hurting you, Cassie. Both of you. And I can't let that happen. I won't risk it."

"_Why_? What could it gain by…" she paused, hesitating. "Why would it want you to hurt Cody – or me?"

"I don't know. It's changing tactics, I told you. I don't know what it's up to." He added in a darker voice: "But an Elŷrric would have found this morning very amusing."

"Then you tried to kill yourself."

"Yeah." Marco's reply was grim, cold, efficient. "I'd be safer dead. But I didn't try hard enough, apparently."

Cassie shuddered, and Marco murmured a "sorry" – a "sorry" which lacked all emotion. His ensuing speech was more emotional: "I'd rather have died than been infested. And I'd rather be infested than go back to the Elŷrrics. And… I'd rather go back there, if that ensured your safety, and Cody's. But it doesn't. I'm dangerous to you, Cassie. I don't want anything dangerous near you."

"You won't hurt me. I can take care of myself."

"But I can match you morph for morph. Besides, I panicked, and panic doesn't really stop to think."

Loren was dressed but unkempt when she showed up. Her old German Shepherd, Kevlar, followed docilely at her heels, his tail wagging slowly as a sleepy Cody gave the big dog a child's wild hug. Cassie still remembered Kevlar as a puppy, showing up all big paws and puppy eyes to fill some of the void left by Loren's seeing eye dog, Champ.

"Don't be at home," Cassie said softly. "Be somewhere safe."

"I will, Cassie," Loren muttered tiredly. "How do I reach you if something happens?"

"We'll probably be in the house. If we're accessible at all. Marco's parents will be home in another week."

Loren took Cody by the hand and gave Cassie a hard look somewhere between "I don't want to know" and "Take care", and the trio went out to Loren's waiting car.

Cassie watched her little son leave with the same mixture of worry and pride which always haunted such moments. Cody had never worried about being babysat by someone. Marco had never worried. Cassie had worried enough for all three of them.

This time, more than ever. She felt Marco's dark eyes watching the boy leave, from where he stood in the doorway to the living room. He stood very, very still, as if he was afraid he might set off something he could not handle if he moved. It made Cassie's skin crawl. And for the first time ever, Cassie was glad to see Cody leave the house. Which terrified her.

With nothing left to do but wait for Dr Glas, Cassie and Marco retreated to the living room couch to watch TV. It felt like a harmless activity. Nothing good was on – the 'mute' button was used, leaving only pictures to flash across the screen. Marco soon descended into his customary light slumber. Cassie did the same.

She stirred as Marco left the sofa. She followed him with her eyes – he toed over to the window, remarkably light on his feet, and gazed out. Even before he turned about again, Cassie was sitting up, longing for some hackles to raise, some teeth to bare. She could read anything she needed to know just from the way Marco stood.

"A cruiser," Marco told her. "Coming in to land."

Cruisers – all space ships, down to the smallest fighters – were closely monitored, and in many places forbidden. Cassie was certain that her land was one of those places. In reality, there were three exceptions: dire emergencies, Andalites who considered themselves above petty laws, and hostiles who simply did not care. Marco, too, had upon his homecoming landed his Tenkharian shuttle craft, which later had baffled the Andalites and (few) humans in orbit, but that had been a onetime occurrence. A returning Animorph landing a strange space ship on her lands would not happen again.

So Cassie mouthed hopefully: "Andalite?"

In reply, there was a thoughtful ripple of muscles along Marco's arms, as he touched upon his gorilla morph, considered it.

Cassie sighed – again she was glad Cody was out of the house.

"They already know we're here," Marco said softly. "Bioscanners – no use hiding. How trusting do we feel?"

"Do you know what it is?"

"Iguarnee, no doubt." He whispered it. His gaze disappeared to somewhere far away – and his hand found its way to his pocket, touching the tiara through the fabric. The hand lingered – Cassie held her breath until it was lowered.

"Who are the Iguarnee?"

"Never met one. But..." He paused, hesitated. "But the Elŷrrics used all the technology they could get their hands on. So I recognize the cruiser." His expression was forbidding, his eyes empty, and his stance was waiting, waiting, waiting like a cat perched in a tree watching the bird's nest above– or possibly the dog below. It was impossible to tell.

Cassie schooled her voice to steady and calm. "But Iguarnee doesn't necessarily mean Elŷrric, then. Let's see who it is and what they want first."


	3. trusting

**3 - trusting**

_(thoughtspeech signs exchanged to #)  
_

The two of them trooped side by side from the living room and out of the house. Cassie was wary, senses prickling. She tasted the wind for the smells that teased beyond any human's nose, longing for her wolf's nose. Marco had advanced from wary: he was spooked, frightened – he kept reaching for the tiara, before jerking his fingers away again.

Cassie took his hand to stop him and gave him a calming look.

They stood in the open to watch the Iguarnee ship finally touch the ground, a few hundred paces into the field behind their home.

It was a tense moment. Cassie released a breath she had not known she had been holding when the first person out of the ship was a human. A well-known human: Dr Robert Glas.

Marco scowled beside her. He despised surprises. And the psychologist arriving in a ship he associated with the Elŷrrics was definitely the worst kind of surprise.

"There had better be a good explanation for this," Marco muttered.

Dr Glas – when not surprise-visited before his first cup of black morning coffee – was a rather energetic man, albeit one usually enfolded in the smoothest of calms. His energy was however vividly clear in his strides as he came towards them, and he both grinned and waved.

"I trust you can explain this," Marco said to him, gesturing to the ship, which – judging from the fading lighting – was in the process of shutting down.

Dr Glas slowed down. "I'm not surprised to see that you're as welcoming as ever, Marco. But… Cassie told me what happened. And it makes me glad to see you on your feet."

"I'm surprised to see you… _here_… so _early_."

"Yes, I suppose you are," Dr Glas admitted, his grin returning. It was the grin of a child on Christmas morning. "But I had the fortunate assistance of – of – well, see for yourselves."

From the ship emerged an Andalite, coming after Dr Glas on dainty hooves.

"This is my friend, and colleague of sorts, Mertil-Calear-Iro. He's an Andalite therapist – we share fields of study: morphers and aliens. We've been in correspondence for years, and now he's come to visit for the first time. I trust you don't mind. I told him what I know of this… this tiara of yours. I believe he can help."

Marco hardly reacted. His manner was still guarded. Cassie met the psychologist's look of askance, and with a sigh assured him: "We don't mind."

The Andalite called Mertil approached, finally stopping beside Dr Glas. Mertil was nothing like the well-muscled warriors which commonly represented his kind away from the Home World. There was a very real physical difference: Mertil was to an Andalite warrior what a twelve-year-old computer addict who frequently forgot to eat was to a drill sergeant. To Cassie's untrained eyes, his slender legs and arms, his snakelike, thin tail, reminded her first of Ax, as he had been when he had first arrived: a gangly teenager. Closer inspection, though, revealed tan hairs of age on Mertil's face and hands, and his thinness was not accompanied by teenage awkwardness – more by an adult's accustomed ease.

But it was apparent that no-one had kept Mertil in rigid training since childhood's end, as _arisths_ and warriors were. Cassie had seen Andalite civilians before, of course; but Andalites as a race were keen on showing no weakness, and most Andalites rich enough to travel to Earth were retired military hotshots. Their children were dainty, of course, and their wives were always petite, but that was to be expected. A physically weak Andalite male in his prime was something new.

His thought-speech voice was oily and smooth, touching something in Cassie's head which no Andalite warrior would have presumed to reach for: an uncertainty. Andalite warriors were always very too-the-point, denying the very existence of uncertainties. But Mertil seemed to feast on them. His mental voice wound around and between them, stroking and soothing them as he passed. His tone laughed at them, as if at some personal joke.

#The Animorph Cassie.# The honorific and name flowed like ripples on water. He performed a jerky Andalite bow – something he was unused to, or perhaps had little time for. #An honour, truly. I was so pleased to learn that my friend would allow me to accompany him here. I do hope we can help you. I have spent the journey here questioning my friend, but I fear he does not know much.#

"Welcome to Earth," Cassie said in simple reply.

#And… Marco,# the Andalite went on. #The other Animorph. I was sad to understand that your ranks had been so decimated.#

"Well, I was sad to experience it," Marco muttered. "Where did you get that ship?"

Mertil's four eyes blinked, taken aback. #My ship?#

"It's an Iguarnee ship. And I know I'm not off my mark. Where did you get it?"

#The ship is not mine,# explained Mertil smoothly. #A friend has lent it to me. I know nothing of it. But enough of that. Might we have a look at this… tiara?# Mertil's four eyes were fixated on Marco, shining with curiosity.

"Let's not pressure Marco now, Iro," Dr Glas cautioned.

But Marco had already reached into his pocket and the silver tiara lay glittering, presented on the palm of his hand. It was, beyond a doubt, a beautiful object, elegant and flawlessly made; the tight spiral at each end was set with small blue stones. As it felt Marco's touch, it swelled slightly in his hand, adapting to fit his forehead comfortably. The swirling markings along its metal body, supposedly Elŷrrian writing, were…

Cassie looked again, startled. The markings were glowing, very softly, like something fluorescent not yet brought into a dark room for better viewing.

She had not seen – or at least not _looked at_ – the tiara for several days, but she was certain that she had never before seen the lettering _glow_.

"Marco?" she whispered, touching his arm lightly. She did not like the look which had swept into his expression: a hungry and despairing look, longing and loathing and terrified all at once. She tried again. "_Marco_."

He made no move.

The Andalite Mertil studied him, and the tiara, and him and the tiara again. #How fascinating,# murmured his flowing voice. #How absolutely _fascinating_.#

Then he reached for the tiara with his long-fingered hand.

And Marco recoiled as if something had exploded in his face. He staggered back, fell as much as sat heavily onto the ground, holding the tiara tightly to his chest with both hands. "No," came the haggard rasp: "_Mine_!"

Mertil stood very, very still, frozen in shock at the sudden reaction.

"Did I forget to warn you?" asked Dr Glas, frowning. "I was quite certain that I warned you. I should have warned you. You're lucky he didn't _attack_."

Cassie sat herself down next to Marco and caught his wrists – his trembling hands were bringing the tiara to his forehead. "No, Marco," she said firmly.

He sat as if dazed – he did not resist her grip. He looked like someone caught between one thought and the next – interrupted and thrown aside from wherever his mind had been taking him.

"Just talk to him, Cassie," encouraged Dr Glas softly.

"Marco, look at me."

Marco's gaze finally flickered into life again. He studied Cassie, for a long moment, before looking about. As his eyes passed Mertil, he climbed to his feet hurriedly, still clutching the tiara in both hands.

The Andalite remained very, very still.

"Put the tiara in your pocket," Cassie suggested.

Marco frowned down at his hands, and did exactly that, Cassie still helping to guide his wrists. Then Marco turned to Mertil with a look of revulsion. "You, I accept," he said to Dr Glas. "But I will never be any Andalite's lab rat."

Dr Glas descended into his calm like someone taking a deep breath and lowering themselves below a surface. "Iro meant no harm, Marco. And he can help."

"How?"

"Minds, I understand – or, seek to understand. But there is technology involved here. That is where Iro will be needed."

"I don't _need_ any Andalite," growled Marco. "They never show up when you need them. Only when they want something – have something to gain. So what do you have to gain here, Andalite? What's your hidden agenda this time? Does Apex Level know you're here?"

Mertil's stance was the least threatening and arrogant Cassie had ever seen from an Andalite – aside from Ax at rare, soft moments. He did not look soft in any way, though. He looked controlled, confident, perfectly serene. He had lowered his tail like a human might show his empty hands in front of him to ease a tense adversary and avoid accidents. He remained motionless, but his eyes were alert, his keen mind surely working behind them.

#Apex Level has nothing to do with me, Animorph,# he began. His words fell upon Cassie's mind like drops of caramel colour in water, landing, rippling the surface for the merest moment, and then slowly spreading the bright hues throughout the water. #I am here to _learn_. That is my secret agenda: I seek to learn something. So, yes, I intend to profit from your misfortune. But I do intend to… do what I can.#

"Marco, be reasonable now," Dr Glas murmured.

Marco glared at Mertil, his eyes no more than narrow slits of suspicious black.

Cassie shifted his grip to hold his arm. "Marco will be reasonable," she said. "I wish I could say he's not being himself, but… well. Unfortunately he is."

"Iro understands, I'm sure," said Dr Glas.

"Why do you call him _Iro_?" snapped Marco. "I thought his name was _Mertil_."

"It feels more proper to address a new colleague by his last name than his first."

Marco scowled. "Andalites don't really have last and first names like that."

"No. But humans, such as myself, do. And it does no harm, since the good Andalite doesn't care either way, while it makes me feel better."

#You may all call me Mertil, or Iro, as you wish,# Mertil chuckled.

Cassie sighed. "How about we all return to the house? Mertil – do you mind houses?"

#I do not,# Mertil assured her, with another little bow.

"Good. Then come with me."

Cassie steered Marco around and proceeded towards the house, Mertil and Dr Glas following behind her.

"Marco, behave now," Cassie requested softly – Marco's reply was a tiny huff. Cassie bit her lower lip, glancing up at him – she recognized the signs. The tiara was singing again. Marco was somewhere else. "Why did it do that?" she asked him. "It… glowed. Has it done that before?"

"Yes," breathed Marco at once, nearly hissing. His hand reached for the tiara's pocket – he swallowed once, and then straightened his back with a determination that did not quite reach his eyes.

"When?"

Marco considered it. He frowned, and thought about it. Then he looked down at her in honest confusion. "I… don't know."


	4. or

**4 - or**

_(thoughtspeech signs exchanged to #)_

The worst of Cody's toy invasion was hastily cleared from the living room, and everyone – aside from Mertil – were seated. Mertil remained on his hooves, daintily stepping around the room, studying the book shelf, the TV, the by then ancient stereo, the old cupboard with Cassie's grandmother's finest china, which was completed by a collection of silver spoons in desperate need of polishing. He studied photos and lingered for a time at a picture of Cassie, just come home with Cody from the hospital. The next to catch his attention was one of Marco, a for-once smiling Marco, with his parents at a Christmas dinner the year before. Mertil's head was on its side, his four eyes curiously fixed on the picture's smile.

Cassie almost wished she could have asked him to sit down. His inspection of the room was making her uncomfortable. She sat with her knees pulled up, next to Marco in the sofa, but not touching him. He was far away again, his hands locked in his lap only to – she knew – keep them from that pocket, that tiara.

Dr Glas, however, was ignoring his overly curious Andalite friend. "Well then, Marco," he said. He had chosen a heavy armchair for himself, and sat it like a king – an attentive king, not a haughty one, but still a king. "How are you?"

Marco shook his head wryly. "I've been having dreams. Bad ones."

"So Cassie told me. About what?"

"Doesn't matter. Nonsense. Things I remember. And things I'm… afraid of."

#Offer us an example, please,# requested Mertil.

Marco sent him a scowl and shrugged the question aside.

But Mertil had turned from inspecting the room, and stood just beside the sofa, beside Marco. #What exactly do you dream about? What fears?#

"It's more threats than fears," Marco said, avoiding the Andalite's gaze, locking his eyes on the black screen of the TV, on the reflection of him and Cassie there. "Like someone's laughing at me. Telling me I can't… telling me it's inevitable, it's too late, and it'll all be my fault."

"But everyone has nightmares," Dr Glas pointed out. "How do you know they're from the tiara?"

"Because I _know_ it. I recognize the style."

#You've been through much, Animorph. They might come from your own head. From memories. The tiara might have nothing to do with it.#

Marco shook his head. "It _sings_ to me. I'm not imagining things."

Mertil, after a long moment of study, accepted that with a nod. #As you say, Animorph,# he whispered, his thought-speech like the touch of a cold finger in the back of everyone's head. #Intriguing.#

"What happened this morning, Marco?" asked Dr Glas.

Marco answered in a flat voice. "I woke up and was still dreaming. I… I came to with a knife in my hand and every intention to kill Cody. And then Cassie. And I hadn't thought it strange. I hadn't thought it wrong. Not until… I was standing in the doorway, and the urge just let go."

"It let go?"

"It _laughed_ at me. Telling me… _look. It's not just dreams. Look what I can make you do_. Like a puppeteer threatening his dolls."

"And what did you do?"

"I panicked. I cut my wrists open."

"And then I saved him," Cassie finished.

Marco turned towards her. He kept his hands in his lap, and there was no change in his manner. But his eyes… they made Cassie feel tears in her own. He had his soul bared in his gaze – he loved, and he feared. The two emotions danced, entwined, fighting for dominion. Snaking around it all was a trace of that ruthless calculation, that simple solution – that very same calculation and solution that Cassie had taken from him that morning. And he accepted it, like he would accept anything she chose to put him through. He even had some measure of gratitude, relief. His eyes did not ask her for anything – but somewhere behind them, his soul pleaded for help. Cassie blinked her tears away and placed a hand on his face. She conjured a smile. There was no need to say anything. The two of them looked aside and Cassie let her hand fall.

#How?# asked Mertil.

"I made him morph," Cassie said simply.

"This… urge to kill. Is it new?" wondered Dr Glas.

"I've dreamed it. But I've dreamed many things. It's… gone now, anyway."

#Do you think it may return?#

"Of course."

"What is the tiara saying now?"

"Just… singing," said Marco, dreamily. "Like a lullaby. Soothing."

"Singing of what?"

"Of… home."

#Would you tell me about this home, Animorph?# wondered Mertil.

Marco hesitated, glancing at Cassie, but then shrugged uncomfortably. "It's very far away. The slave camps. On some Elŷrrian world – they had several. The sun was white, almost blue. There was me, in my cage, and there were others. Many others. Most only stayed a short while before being sold on. But for Jeanne and I… our Lord… he kept us to test us. To see what we could do. What he could make us do. How the tiara best controlled us, and what could break that control." He fell silent. His hands were balled into tight firsts.

"What were the Elŷrrics like?"

Marco shook his head fiercely. "Don't ask me about _them_."

#But we ask. Do tell us,# insisted Mertil silkily.

Marco touched the pocket where the tiara rested – every eye in the room aside from his own followed that movement. "They… the Lords… told me what to do. They praised me when I obeyed. And punished me when I did not. They…"

"What did they look like?"

As if in deep concentration, Marco's brow furrowed. "They…"

But his voice fell away and silence followed. Mertil, who had leaned in closer, straightened and backed away. His tail was still carefully lowered, and his hands hung still by his sides.

Dr Glas, who now was leaned comfortably back in his armchair, tapped his lips pensively with a forefinger. He sighed. "Marco, did you wear the tiara in those camps?"

Marco nodded jerkily. "Yes. Of course. Always."

"Then how did you take it off?"

"I didn't take it off. Never. That was forbidden. I couldn't. Wouldn't have."

"Marco. Where is the tiara now?"

Marco reached for his pocket. "Right here."

"You're not wearing it," Dr Glas remarked. "Wasn't it forbidden to take it off?"

Marco gripped the tiara through the pocket's fabric. He tensed until he trembled, every muscle tightening, locking as if to deny unwanted movement. Cassie rested a hand on his shoulder – he hardly seemed to notice. "Forbidden, yes," he breathed. "And… I should…" He hissed for air, anger flashing across his face. "No. I shan't. Won't." He drew a long, quavering breath, ceasing to tremble. "I won't," he repeated, but hardly seemed to believe it himself.

"But clearly you _did_ remove it," Dr Glas said. "How did you do that?"

Marco's face was uncharacteristically open as he replied: "I don't know."

#Do you remember leaving those slave camps?#

"Of course. And I remember leaving. I remember entering Z-space with the shuttle craft and leaving."

"Where was the tiara then?"

"In my pocket. It was very quiet."

Dr Glas's eyebrows had scrunched down into a frown. "So as you _escaped_, it did nothing?"

"I had already escaped then," Marco corrected. "I was free. Leaving. Going home."

"But you still carried the tiara."

"That's the entire problem, isn't it?"

#Do you remember actually taking the tiara off? Leaving your cage? Turning on your masters?#

"No," Marco admitted slowly, giving his head another shake.

"Marco," said Cassie softly, touching his arm. "If you don't remember it… perhaps you've been told not to?"

Marco leaned his head to the side.

Cassie drew a breath and went on. "The tiara was quiet when you left. And you said it yourself… you would never have taken it off. They must have told you to. Must have told you to go home."

Marco did not even breathe. Dr Glas's eyebrows shot into air, his face alight as the puzzle pieces fell into place – and his face dark and troubled as he realised what picture the pieces made. And…

#Clever human,# murmured Mertil, his Andalite smile bright and amused in his deep green eyes.

"And now, when the tiara is bothering you…" Cassie voiced, very softly, "it's because time's up. They want you back. You keep speaking of tests. Tests of the tiara's control. I think this is another. They don't know how a human responds to a tiara. They're still trying to find out. They've let you off your leash for a while, and now they want to see if you'll come when they call."

"Seems a bit far-fetched, to me," Dr Glas mused. "A lot of trouble to try that tiara for a single human. A large risk."

#Ah, but the Elŷrrics are slavers, remember?# Mertil said. #They will be interested in _more_ humans. They are likely willing to take a few risks with _one_. Better to perfect the tiara's control before moving on to a larger scale. If it works, then all is well. If not, then they can figure out what they have to change, or – if necessary – abandon the project. And while they send this one human here, why not have him… fetch more? Which brings us to the question… what _exactly_ have you dreamed, Marco?#

Marco flew to his feet. "What would _you_ know, Andalite?"

#I have travelled the universe my entire life, studying different forms of life, and how they think. I have met my fair deal of slavers… technologically advanced creatures praying on weaker races. Some, for cheap labour, others simply for sport. They are not to be played with. And they never make a habit of _releasing_ slaves – and it does seem like Marco has been _released_ – without purpose. What have you dreamed, Marco? It is not only nightmares, is it? There have been pleasant dreams, too. Dreams of presenting gifts to your masters. Valuable gifts. More slaves, and whatever technology you can get your hands on. They love technology, do they not? The morphing technology would surely be useful. As would any other humans. Especially morphers –#

"So what if I did?" snarled Marco.

#You woke up to find one dream reality. What of the others?#

Marco exploded and roughly shoved the Andalite back. The spindly Mertil crashed into an armchair, fell over it and on to roll over the floor, before staggering back into balance and onto footing. Cassie winced, again struck by the physical difference between this civilian and the Andalite warriors, who if pushed by a human might shift, but never stagger.

"_I am not your science project_!" roared Marco. He seemed to grow, black fur sprouting along his back and over his shoulders, his muscles swelling.

"Marco!" Cassie protested. "No _morphing_, damn you! He's trying to help!"

Marco shuddered, turning pointedly from the Andalite to face Cassie. The fur began receding, but he did not give any indication of having calmed down.

"No morphing," she ordered again.

Marco twitched his face aside, scowling, reaching for the tiara with one hand. Cassie could not help it – she caught his wrist again, holding his hand away from that pocket. He gave her a surprised look, annoyed at first, but then accepting.

"I don't want to talk about this any more," he said harshly. And left the living room.

#Apparently they had him well trained,# Mertil chuckled. #The slave does not want to speak ill of his masters.#

"I don't see what's so funny," Cassie remarked coldly.

#Forgive me, Animorph,# whispered the Andalite, his voice landing on her mind like a warm hand might cup her cheek – the warm but condescending hand of someone who believed they knew better. #I shall be more… considerate of your feelings. Meanwhile, I see only one thing to do.#

"What?"

#The tiara is an alien technology. Without studying it more closely, I fear I cannot grasp what it is doing.# He flicked his tail. #And if the tiara is hurting him, why not simply remove it?#

"He'll go berserk," Cassie informed him dully.

Mertil's eyes were sly. #We can confine him in a force field cage in my ship. He can go as berserk as he pleases.#

"But what if it might… _harm him_."

#Does keeping the tiara do him any good?#

Cassie shook her head mutely.

#Then it is settled,# said Mertil softly.


	5. not trusting

**5 -not trusting**

Cassie found Marco seated at the computer in the study. He was leaned back in his seat, his hands lying forgotten on his lap. He watched the screen. The screensaver was on.

"What are you thinking?"

"That I need to leave," he answered automatically.

"Cody's safe, off with Loren. And I have nothing to fear from you."

Marco shook his head and glanced at her, over his shoulder. His voice was parched like old papyrus. "Not that. It's not that. I simply need to return to the Elŷrrics."

Cassie considered, studying the back of Marco's head. He reached for the computer mouse and the screensaver flickered away. Beneath it was a screen with a single internet window open, a forum of some sort which he at once clicked away, before shutting the computer down. "If you're so afraid of the control the tiara has, and it wishes you to leave, then why are you still here?"

"_For now_ I'm to stay put and wait. Then, when…" He caught his own words, and reformulated whatever he had meant to say into a simple, dry: "_Then_ I go." His second glance at her was quick and frightened. "It's like when I was in the camps. Not just that song and the eternal tempting. It's giving actual _orders_. And… I'm obeying them."

Cassie quenched a shudder and looked down at the cup in her hands. She stared at it for a long time. "Here," she murmured finally. "I brought you some hot chocolate." She stayed where she was, unmoving, even as she spoke, not even raising her eyes.

Marco stood and came towards her. His fingers were warm as they enclosed her hands and the cup. He lingered there, before he lifted the cup free of her grip. "Thanks," he said. "I could use some chocolate."

"I thought you might," she said through a forced smile. "Chocolate makes people happy. You could use a bit of happiness." She watched him drink. He drained the cup, and gave it back to her.

"Thanks again."

"Ready to come back down?" asked Cassie.

"That Andalite?"

"There's only me and the doctor. Mertil has gone to visit his ship and eat. He was hungry. I offered him the lawn, but he said that Earth's grasses were… an acquired taste."

"Ax never complained," muttered Marco darkly.

"Ax had no choice. Are you coming down or not?"

Marco nodded acquiescence, reaching to touch the tiara's pocket. "Okay then."

They went down the stairs together, side by side. Cassie watched Marco's every move. She watched the way he began wandering off to one side, not fully balanced, as he neared the living room. Hurriedly she placed the empty cup on a passed-by table and put Marco's arm over her shoulders, guiding him towards the sofa. He leaned heavily against her, and finally thumped gracelessly down onto the sofa.

He blinked, sagging with a heavy sigh. His eyelids fluttered closed, until he willed them open. Slowly, shakily, he focused his eyes on Cassie. His face was sleepy more than angered. "What did you do?" he whispered.

Cassie put her hand to his cheek. "You trust me, Marco. Remember that you trust me."

Marco's eyes closed again. "The chocolate."

"Yes."

But Marco was already asleep.

- - -

No more than minutes and a tractor beam later, Mertil was setting up a force field cage around Marco, who was slumped in a corner of the cruiser's oval bridge.

"So who's taking the tiara?" asked Dr Glas nervously.

#Why don't you take it, Animorph?# Mertil suggested to Cassie. #He knows you best. In case he wakes.#

"He'll be asleep for some time," Dr Glas assured them. "Another hour, at least."

#How deeply does he sleep?#

"I didn't dare give him any more than I did. So deeply enough."

#Fortunate,# murmured the Andalite. #Animorph? If you would be so kind?#

Cassie gave a curt nod. She knelt down beside Marco and – and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, by way of apology – as she slipped her hand into his pocket and pulled out the tiara.

At once it was there, singing to her, joyous and welcoming in her head. She retreated quickly from Marco, allowing Mertil to set the force field in place.

She stood outside the force field, looking at the tiara in her hands. The markings on it were definitely glowing, now.

"Cassie?" said a voice.

But the voice was irrelevant. The tiara was humming, winding its alluring song about every strand of thought and consciousness in her head. It was stroking her joys and touching her hopes with gentle fingers. It was promising… simplicity. Happiness. Forgiveness, forgetfulness of any bad memory, any nightmare, any evil. Then there was the image: herself, placing the tiara over her forehead. It was like a dream. A longing.

Yet there was a screaming voice in her mind of minds, telling her that something was wrong.

The tiara hushed softly at it, soothed it into silence. Place the tiara over your forehead, child. Just –

"Cassie, listen to me –" and a hand was reaching for her. Not yet close enough to be a threat. She ignored it, raising the tiara.

#I should take that,# came Mertil's firm voice, washing through her mind and making the tiara's song retreat, pull away to hide as if intimidated. Without another word, the Andalite picked the tiara out of her reverent grip.

Cassie released it willingly. As it left her, the dreams of placing it on her forehead were shattered. Only a small hum in the back of her head remained, a reminding candle's flame compared to standing in the middle of a burning house.

#Oh, the beauty of it,# Mertil admired, turning the tiara over and over in his long-fingered hands. #The simple _beauty_ of it! It speaks.#

"Careful with that," muttered Dr Glas. "Marco said it's dangerous."

#It cannot affect me,# claimed Mertil. His tone was almost giddy, and his four bright eyes stared down at the tiara in his hands intently. #It is as I thought. I am a natural telepath. Whatever this is projecting, I can hear it, but chose to ignore it. Like I can choose to ignore thought-speech from someone I do not care for. Even block it.#

"Is that possible?" asked Cassie.

Mertil blinked at her. #Why of course. Did you never try?#

Cassie shook her head.

"But Marco must have morphed many times, with that tiara," Dr Glas reasoned. "That turned him into a telepath every single time. Why did that not break the tiara's control?"

#Because it had already established a hold on him, presumably,# Mertil explained. #Or, perhaps, because his thought-speech ability was a result of him being in morph, not a natural, stronger ability.#

Dr Glas nodded slowly. "You once told me that they never did figure out why the thought-speech ability traverses to non-Andalites who become morphable. It was built into the technology, but only to travel with an Andalite through morphing… noone had ever expected a non-Andalite to access the technology."

#I did?# Mertil murmured. #Why… yes. Yes of course. I did. Still, I have the tiara well in hand now. And I am certain you agree it best that I, who am not affected by it, handle it.#

Cassie did not know why she acted then. Reason told her it was caution, caution for Mertil's sake, for all their sakes. But then again, reason chose to ignore that inviting candle flame in her head. In any case, she acted: she held out her hand. "You're not affected?" she echoed. "Prove it. Give me the tiara."

Mertil handed it over with a broad Andalite smile. #Do you not trust me, Animorph?#

Cassie made no reply. As soon as the tiara first brushed her fingertips she forgot about the Andalite. She fingered it. It swelled in her hands to span over her temples. Her forehead felt very, very naked, very cold – she longed for the touch of the warm tiara, ached for the feel of that thin band of metal over her skin. Its song was a distant tune now, one she strained to hear better. She would hear it better. All she had to do was raise the tiara to her forehead.

So that was what she did.

A tail-blade struck it out of her grip, faster than her eye could follow.

At first she flared in rage, throwing herself after the tiara… then the fury was gone, and she found a pair of hands closed firmly about her shoulders.

"No, Cassie," ordered Dr Glas. "Bad idea. I don't think you should… touch it any more than you already have."

Cassie drew a deep breath. The flame in the back of her mind had raised its voice from a distant humming to a mothering lullaby.

Mertil daintily tripped towards the tiara, scooped it up with his tail-blade, and caught it in his hands. #Convinced, Animorph?# he wondered amusedly.

"I'm convinced," Dr Glas said, holding firmly on to Cassie's shoulders. He glanced at Marco, still motionless and deeply asleep in his cage. "Marco won't wake for another hour, at least. How about making the most of the time?"

#And return the tiara before he wakes? Of course.#

"So what do you plan to do, Iro?"

#Have my computer analyse this. See if there is any way I can reprogram it.#

"Cassie? Are you okay?"

"It's singing," Cassie told him lowly. She had to concentrate to pay attention to his voice, concentrate more to understand it, even more to care what he was saying and respond. It was like trying to understand what someone was saying on the other side of a thick wall while partially asleep and longing for the return of a favourite dream. "It's singing to me."

Dr Glas looked concerned. He still did not release her. "Perhaps we should get you away from it, then. You shouldn't have touched it at all. Not a second time."

#I will manage on my own,# Mertil assured them coolly. #I imagine you are hungry. Go and eat.#

The music in the back of Cassie's head gave an approving twirl just at that moment. She looked towards the tiara, in Mertil's hand. She felt confused. The tiara… she was of two minds. Not exactly torn between them. Just divided, and swaying back and forth drunkenly. Dr Glas holding onto her shoulders was a good thing, a steady support in a world suddenly flashing from dangerous to appealing and back again. The tiara… no. _No_. But… the tiara. It sang, it…

_Go and eat_. The thought drifted through her head, over both parts of her mind. Hunger rumbled in her belly. She had not eaten anything yet that day.

"Eat," she agreed, nodding numbly. "Yes."

Dr Glas sighed. "And put some distance between you and that tiara for an hour or two."

As Cassie passed the doorway of the cruiser, heading out, she only paused to glance back once. She did not glance at Marco, which she thought of as odd. She had intended to. Poor Marco, who trusted her, who because of her trust sat slumped and alone in a cage made of metal and air and a wall of energy harder than stone. But her eyes betrayed her and travelled of their own accord to the tiara in Mertil's hands.

It felt wrong to leave it. Not forbidden – she could shrug the urge aside, with a bit of effort. But she could not dismiss the feeling of wrongness.

Dazed, she had forgotten her eyes' betrayal by the time she reached the house.


	6. what

**6 - what**

Cassie was only prodding her meal disinterestedly, her thoughts elsewhere busy. "Do you know anything more about this friend Mertil borrowed his Iguarnee ship from?"

Dr Glas rolled another wad of spaghetti onto his fork. "No. Frankly, I didn't even know it wasn't an Andalite ship until Marco asked about it. I thought it looked odd – but I know nothing of space ships. What's an Iguarnee?"

"I don't know," Cassie sighed.

"Mertil has always worked and researched in some obscure corner of the universe. I've only been in contact with him through written correspondence before. This is the first time I've met him. But he knows all sorts of aliens – he even cites them in his work. If he has an Iguarnee friend who lent him this ship, I wouldn't be surprised."

"If his friend was an Iguarnee, wouldn't he know more about it? He said he knew nothing of it. He didn't even appear to recognise the word."

"He should," Dr Glas agreed, "if his friend was Iguarnee. Perhaps the Iguarnee aren't in his field. Perhaps it's a colleague's ship." He shrugged. "If you're curious about these Iguarnee, call the Andalite embassy. They ought to know."

Cassie stood up with sudden determination. "I'll do that." She turned to leave.

"Now? You've barely touched your food!" Dr Glas called after her.

Cassie headed up the stairs to the study, to have some privacy. Then she sat herself heavily down on the chair by the computer, picked up the phone, and dialled the number.

An automatic voice met her in the other end. "Welcome to North America's Andalite Embassy. One of our operators is currently morphing human and will assist you in less than two of your minutes. Please hold." The voice changed. "Currently, the embassy is seeking to employ a maker of the food called pepperoni pizza. If you are a maker of pepperoni pizza, please inform the operator."

Cassie rolled her eyes. She could not dismiss a memory of Ax, gulping pizza and marvelling about grease and cheese, while said grease was running down his T-shirt, and said cheese had found its way into his hair.

"_Aristh_ Caroon-Limar-Damili speaking, how might I be of service? Are you by any chance a maker of pistachio ice cream – pardon me, that was last week – pepperoni pizza?"

"I'm Cassie – the Animorph."

The _aristh_ sighed heavily. "Certainly you are. Miss human, we receive on average 324.6 calls a month from people styling themselves Animorphs. I am not fooled. Anything else?"

Cassie sighed. "If I know you Andalites, you already have this call traced, and my voice patterns analysed, so turn your eyes to the screen in front of you and see if my address and name and file ring any bells."

There was a short but very intense silence in the other end. Then… "Pardons, Animorph." He spoke with some less arrogance, with 'Animorph' sounding like a title, somewhere up there with 'Prince'. He quickly went on: "Would you like to speak to the ambassador? He is currently not available, but I can inform him of your call and –"

"No. I just have a few questions."

He sounded dismayed. "Tell me what about, Animorph, and I shall direct you to –"

"Don't worry, _aristh_. There's no need to disturb the grouchy Princes. You can probably answer my questions yourself. You're trained at the Academy."

At the simple praise, his reply soared with youthful pride. "Then ask, Animorph."

"I'd like to hear about a species called the Iguarnee."

"Why do you ask?"

"There is an Iguarnee ship parked in my yard. An Andalite commandeers it. But he himself knows nothing of these Iguarnee, and I'm curious."

There was a silence in the other end. She waited, summoning patience until Caroon spoke. "The name of this Andalite?"

"Mertil-Calear-Iro."

"And the ship, you said, was Iguarnee. I will ask the right officials to look into the matter and get back to you within a week."

"And what you know of these Iguarnee?"

Beneath the _aristh_'s haughtiness, Cassie was certain she actually caught a hint of regret as he said: "Animorph, I am not at liberty to reveal anything."

"What security protocol don't I pass, _aristh_?" Cassie asked, very slowly. "For what reason will I be calling the president, and have him call your ambassador, asking why his _aristh_s presume to waste my time? And _insult_ me? I know the ambassador personally. He likes me. I'm certain he'll sort things out in a moment. And he has so many better things to do than to yell at _aristh_s. I imagine he'll be rather upset."

Now, the proud young _aristh_ Caroon turned decidedly nervous. "There's no need to –"

"No, there definitely isn't. Now tell me about the Iguarnee."

A considering silence followed her words. "A moment, I shall consult my database." And a moment passed. "The Iguarnee live on a moon at the border of Andalite territory, and are capable space travellers, but have never been numerous, and are seldom seen. They look somewhat like your chimpanzees. Only… less ugly. More purple. And taller."

"Which border? The one into Kelbrid space?"

"At one end of that border, yes," replied Caroon in a stiff manner, revealing his surprise and annoyance that Cassie had known of the Kelbrid.

"These Iguarnee. Are they peaceful?"

"Yes. They are scientists, very long-lived."

"So they are on very good terms with Andalites?"

"I am not at liberty to say." This time, it was clear from his tone that there was no way to argue.

Cassie sighed. She was about to say goodbye, when something nudged at her. Something she had been thinking about – or felt as if she should have been thinking about it. "_Aristh_, are Andalites able to block incoming thought-speech?"

"I've heard of techniques…" murmured Caroon, for the first time sounding uncertain – as well as surprised. "Meditation and the like… but… nothing substantial."

"Are you more or less vulnerable to telepathic attack than non-telepaths?"

"Andalites never allow themselves to be _vulnerable_ –" flared the _aristh_ heatedly.

His tone of voice answered Cassie's question better than any analysis of an Andalite Prince's calm word-twisting ever would have: no, Andalites never showed any signs of vulnerability that they had the slightest chance of hiding. Cassie's smile was, however, tired and very brief. "Thank you for your help, _aristh_. That was all."

"Thank you for your call, Animorph. Have a pleasant day. Goodbye."

She hung up the phone and leaned back in her chair, considering. But her head was empty. She would have judged herself too tired to think, if she had not known the reason was something completely different: her mind was drifting back to listen to that tiny flame of longing that remained from touching the tiara.

On an impulse, trying to distract herself, she turned on the computer. She opened the internet. And clicked on the 'history' button, opening the list of previously visited sites. For that day, there was only the one page. The same page she had seen Marco look at earlier, in the short moment after the screen saver had disappeared, before he had cleared it away.

It was a forum about dogs, with breed lists, care pointers, lists of shelters for strays. Cassie scrolled down to the bottom of the page. There was a title-less post, made a few days ago, in what appeared to be a randomly picked thread: _"I know you hate us. And rightfully, for we deserve it. But once we were friends. And I think I need your help." _

The comment was anonymous, and there was no signature. And no meaningful reply – only a sad smilie accompanied by a _"jeez I dont know who u r talkin to or what u ave done, but i hope it workz out"_.

Cassie, having seen all there was to see, closed the window and shut down the computer, returning down to Dr Glas. She ate in silence.

The doctor soon patted her shoulder and told her to stay put, he was going to go and see how Mertil was getting along with the tiara.

Cassie stayed put for about five restless minutes. Then she went to her barn.

From its long abandonment during her delusions, the barn had now regained some life and activity in the form of a few wounded animals, and two brown mares, one steady enough for even Marco to ride safely. Cassie checked dutifully on the animals, her conscience well aware that she had forgotten them that morning – none of them seemed in any dire need. The deer with the healing broken leg was on her cloven hooves this day, the red-tailed hawk lady watched Cassie with its fiercely suspicious gaze, its runny eyes now clearer, and the squirrel was ferreting about its cage as if it had forgotten all about the too-close encounter with an owl it had barely escaped three days ago. She simply made certain every animal had fresh water and a decent meal and left them alone.

Cassie went to her horses, slipped halters over their heads, and led them outside to the paddock. She released them and watched them prance off, tossing their manes and swishing their tails. She climbed out of the paddock through the white wooden fence, and stood leaned against it, her arms folded on top of it. The horses danced, enjoying their freedom, enjoying the now. Cassie tried not to think of the now – or of anything at all.

She felt him approach. She did not turn – she wavered between alarm and hope, and her heart chose the latter. So she remained where she was, how she was, watching the horses – by then, they had settled to graze. Her neck prickled with doubtful anticipation.

His arms slipped almost possessively around her waist, and she released the fence and leaned back into his embrace. His embrace was her haven from the world. So familiar, so cherished. While the air was slightly chilly he was warm, and strong and safe, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his heart.

And this was where he would sigh contently, or tighten his arms, or rest his chin on the top of her head, or lean to kiss her, or whisper an endearment – or an interesting suggestion of how to best pass the next couple of hours. This was when he would say that little word, or make that little, in essence meaningless movement, that sigh and adjustment of his body against her own, which he always did, and which made Cassie feel loved.

Only he did not. The emotion in his embrace was gone. And Cassie freed herself enough to look at him, already knowing what she would see.

The tiara glittering across his forehead.

* * *

Author's Note: 

Ah, the Andalite Embassy. Gotto love 'em.

Ehrm. So, I said I'd say nothing more until the story was done. Well, that means the story is done.

Just kidding. It simply turns out I was wrong. I'm leaving in... four hours. I'll be back for two days in Juli. If you all review and tell me I'm wonderful, I may be nudged into speeding the next chapter up then. Otherwise, I'll be back proper in August.

Until then, please admire my cliffhanger. I know I will... feeling nostalgia for the good old days of Time Matrix Chronicles, when someone took to calling me Cliffhanger Queen. There wasn't a chapter in that story without a cliffie.

And let's hear it, people... what are your theories on what's happened?


	7. your eyes

**7 - your eyes**

"It's okay, Cass," he told her, feeling her sudden tension. "It's okay."

With her insides in a hurricane panic, she was proud of how steady her voice was. "Marco. Let me go."

He did. He took a step back, spreading his hands to his sides in a universal gesture of 'I'm unarmed and mean no harm'.

"What happened? What have you done to Iro, and the doctor?"

Marco shook his head. "I'm not to answer questions," he said, chanted, like a child reciting a favourite rhyme. His manner seemed peaceful enough – but Cassie was not fooled. She knew him. And she recognized the way he moved: that precise, collected dignity, eerily like the graceful strength of his gorilla. His footfalls would be very silent if he walked, and when he dropped the charade his face would be cold and hostile. He offered her a hand. "Come on, Cass."

"No," Cassie refused, shaking her head.

"It's for your own good, Cassie. Come along now. I don't want to hurt you."

"That's right," Cassie told him softly. "You don't. You don't want to bring me to _them_. The Elŷrrics. You don't."

Marco looked pained – and then the waver in his eyes evaporated, and anger streaked onto his face, marring his features like old scars suddenly made visible. "Actually, Cass, I think I do."

"They hurt you, Marco. They've done it before. They'll do it again."

"Not if I serve them," growled Marco, visibly setting her words out of his mind. "Come on. Last chance, Cass. Please. Milord isn't patient."

"You don't want to serve them. You don't want to bring me to them. Just like they've hurt you, they'll hurt me. _You don't want me hurt._ Not ever. You love me too much to ever want me hurt."

Marco's aggressive stance flickered away. The conflict was clear: he jerked away, lowering his face, both hands flying like claws to the tiara across his forehead. But the lettering on the silver was brilliantly alight, and Marco's hands came away empty. "I don't –" he gasped, a whirl of warring emotions. There was pain his clenched expression, fury and despair twirled in his dark eyes, and fear quivered in his voice. Then that despair and that fear exploded through him and he threw himself at her, crying "But I must!"

Marco was already bulging with increased gorilla mass as he grabbed her by the arm and began dragging her off. His fingers thickened and the grip tightened with the force of newly morphed muscles.

Cassie let him drag her – she made no attempt to break free. She simply morphed.

She chose the flea and focused all her willpower on shrinking. While Marco's hands grew larger and stronger, she shrunk rapidly into near nothingness.

Marco roared something in thought-speech which would have made his mother wash his mouth with soap as she slipped out of his grip, and out of sight for his beady gorilla eyes.

#Remember what we learned as Animorphs, Marco,# Cassie said softly. #Sometimes, it's simply better to go small.#

#Damn it, Cass! You're just making it difficult for yourself! That ship has bioscanners. You can't hide. Just come along peacefully, please… it'll be easier on you that way.# Marco sounded like he believed it himself. Cassie felt a mental shiver.

Still, she let Marco rage on, saying nothing. She turned her attention to her flea senses, powered her tiny body towards the nearby source of heat – Marco, it had to be – and clambered through what had to be gorilla fur, towards skin. She felt the warm body's vibrations and jolts as it moved: the beat of a strong heart and the gorilla's jerky, rolling gait beneath. She resisted the urge to bite with a bit of effort, and began to wait.

She did not know exactly what she waited for. An opportunity. How she planned to recognize an opportunity in flea morph, she did not know. Such things either solved themselves, or became problems, but it was a problem or solution to face when it came.

The alternative was turning around and facing a future without Marco, a future where she would live knowing she had abandoned him to the Elŷrrics. That she could not do.

She soon felt the air change from the fresh outdoor to the metallic, slightly stale indoor air of a space ship. She tensed. Marco must have somehow have escaped Mertil's force field cage, and was about to steal Mertil's ship and return to his Elŷrrian masters. His own Tenkharian shuttle craft was, of course, inferior to a cruiser class Iguarnee ship.

He was leaving Earth, leaving her, leaving Cody. Only she was trapped aboard the same cruiser.

She felt a mental shiver and was glad that fleas were unable to weep. She steeled herself, and made up her mind: she would find an opportunity to thwart him. No: to thwart the tiara. The Elŷrrics.

It was then she heard him speak. With more respect than she had ever heard in his voice: #Lord, close the hatch. She is here with me. In flea morph.#

And it did not take Cassie a moment to figure out who he was speaking to. It felt like someone had just hit her across the head with a sledge hammer. Of course. Of course. Even before the reply, Cassie had understood, had seen the pattern.

#Excellent, Marco,# came the quiet praise. It chilled Cassie into the depths of her soul. There was no mistaking that voice. That light hand which enveloped every strand of thought, ready to squeeze. The mocking caress of every hope and every uncertainty.

The Iguarnee ship. The glowing tiara. The friend never before met face to face.

#Quite excellent.#

It was Mertil. Speaking to Marco like one praised a child, but with less emotion.

She had not seen it in time – now it was too late. Now she was trapped in this cruiser, with a lover she could not trust and his greatest enemy. Yet there was nowhere else she would rather be. She felt courage build like boiling water inside her. The alternative was abandoning Marco. That she would not – could not – do.

#So do come out, my dear,# almost sang Mertil, plucking at cords of thought like a harpist plucked at the strings of a harp.

Cassie felt compelled to obey. The order wound itself around her mind and tugged at her like a leash. _Come out._

#Reveal yourself,# suggested Mertil, if a suggestion could grab someone by the neck and steer them and still be called a mere suggestion.

Marco was changing shape, demorphing to human again.

Cassie considered. She was trapped on the ship. If she demorphed, she would reveal herself, and be vulnerable. But they already knew she was there. Unless they were bluffing. If she remained a flea, she would be useless, and… and even if they were bluffing, she would reveal herself as soon as she eventually demorphed. For she would eventually have to demorph. And it would have to be aboard the ship, for she had no way of escaping it.

What of her son, her little boy? Cody, Cody, Cody. She would never see him again, never hold him, never kiss him goodnight, never bring him to his first day of school, never, never, never, never if she was trapped in morph, never if she did not somehow stop Mertil, save Marco, for she could not leave him.

Cassie leapt to the floor. She demorphed. Only as she stood fully human did she raise her eyes.

Mertil, still appearing as an oddly thin Andalite, with long legs and a snakelike tail and incredibly green eyes, returned her gaze with a narrow but warm smile. #Welcome, my dear. I have a gift for you.#

Cassie shut her eyes and turned her face away as he held out a tiara. Another tiara – not the one still adorning Marco's forehead. The glowing lettering burned on the inside of her eyelids. There was no bond to this tiara. It had no hold on her – she had never touched it. Yet it was humming its invitation, and it was beautiful. And every thought lingering on it was dangerous.

"Take it, Cass," Marco urged fervently.

Cassie glanced up at him. "No. I don't want it."

#Trust me, my dear,# Mertil whispered. #You'll want it soon enough. Marco?#

"Milord?"

#Convince her.#

Marco's black eyes glittered with a depth Cassie had never before seen – a bottomless pit. "Think of it this way, Cass," he said, his steps towards her like those of a prowling cat, his shoulders set menacingly and his hands half-raised. She began to back away. "We'll be together. They'll let us be together. And they'll leave Cody alone. The Lords have no use for children."

"You wouldn't dare touch Cody," Cassie snarled. She reached for her wolf morph, touching it – and leaving it be. There was no use. Marco could match her morph for morph. They would only end up hurting each other, demorphing, remorphing, and tiring, weakening.

If she could get to Mertil… past Marco…

Before she had expected it, her back hit the wall. Immediately Marco stopped his advance. A force field shimmered into existence. And the singing, soothing, alluring tiara landed at her feet.

_Pick it up. It's beautiful. _

_Pick it up. You want a closer look. _

_Pick it up. It'll make the pain go away. _

_Pick me up. Pick me… _

Cassie slammed her hands over her ears and shut her eyes again, trying desperately to escape the mental voice. Cody. Yes, that was it. Think of Cody. Cody needed her.

She built up a picture of her boy in her head. His bright smile, black eyes, crazily curly hair. The too-often scraped knees, the grass- and food-stained shirt. The smell of him, young and innocent, with a wisp of that shampoo from the colourful blue bottle he for some reason favoured. His youthful voice, the sound of him speaking – oh, he spoke constantly now, from when he awoke until when he fell asleep. He was growing – each day he seemed taller. She could not help but smile.

The tiara could do nothing. It could claw at her mind, call on her, beckon her, torment her, whatever it wished – it made no difference. Cody was everything. The tiara meant losing Cody, possibly harming Cody, possibly bringing him along into slavery.

"Pick it up, Cass," encouraged Marco eagerly. "Just pick it up, and –"

"And never see my boy again?" she interrupted with a definite chill in her words. "I think not. Or is it pick it up, and bring Cody to the Elŷrrics? Forget it."

#Ah,# hissed Mertil in disgust. #_Mothers_. Very well, Animorph. The journey home is long. There is plenty of time for me to change your mind. It might even prove amusing.#

"You're an Elŷrric," Cassie blurted.

#Clever human,# Mertil snickered. #What gave it away? Marco calling me 'lord'?#

"But you look like an Andalite."

#Obviously.#

"Then how do Elŷrrics look? What's your true shape? Your name?"

#I am a shape shifter,# Mertil told her disdainfully. He was watching her with his stalk eyes while his main eyes focused on the computer console at which he had begun working. #Like all of my kin. My true shape is whichever shape I assume. Whichever shape suits me best. As for my true name – I have no reason to trust a slave with such a secret. Now be quiet.#

"Or what?"

Mertil's four eyes focused on her, flashing in ire. #Or I will _make_ you quiet,# he promised softly. An Andalite would have raised his tail – Mertil did not need to. #And trust me, girl… it will not be pleasant.#

Cassie bit her lip and drew back, uncomfortable. Mertil seemed perfectly capable to crush mountains with his mere voice.

#Marco,# said Mertil then. #Prepare us for departure.#

"At once, milord."

If she had thought it would have helped, Cassie would have screamed.

* * *

Author's Note:

So some of you already had Mertil's act down. Ah, well,can't fool 'em all. Ever notice how people reading stories are always more perceptive to who the villian is or what (s)he is up to than the characters in the story?

...and I'll be back in August. Until then, have fun.


End file.
